Child's Play
by hooksandheroics
Summary: Two scheming kids and you get a runaway, a tea party, and a dinner date. Started as a tumblr prompt, now a two-chapter fic: parents meeting when they take their kids to school AU.


**AN:** Started as a prompt; _parents meeting when they take their kids to school AU,_ couldn't control my muse and now it's a monster of a chapter to a two-part fic. Enjoy! :)

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><p>The first time she sees him, he has a lipstick mark on his chin. Hardly appropriate display in front of a public elementary school, so she raises a brow to herself as he walks by with a grin seemingly directed at her. She ignores him and walks her son to the front doors of the school, whispering her usual mantra of 'be good, kid' and 'don't talk to strangers'.<p>

Henry nods his head, but not without a subtle roll of his eyes. Emma ignores that, too.

She sends her son on his way and waves good bye to him, but just as she was turning to leave, she was blocked by a strong – and decidedly very masculine – body. She pauses, her breath backing up her lungs, a strangled grunt escaping her sealed lips. _What the heck –_

"So, you're Henry's mom," the stranger – the same man with the lipstick on his chin, the one that is still on there – says, his voice low and rough, as if he doesn't have an eight-year old little girl in front of him.

"Yeah," she replies, and she hears a touch of breathlessness in that simple word and she hates herself for it.

He looks like he had something to say, but the little girl beats him to it, extending her arm towards her and grinning. "My name's Ellie, I'm Henry's classmate, it's nice to meet you, Mrs. Swan," she says, a toothy grin on her face, her bright blue eyes shining with mirth. She doesn't have the heart to correct her on the title. "This is my daddy," she adds, looking up at the man behind her.

"Hello, Ellie," Emma replies, sparing the man a glance before returning her attention to the girl, taking her outstretched hand and shaking it good naturedly, "it's nice to meet you, too. Henry talks about you a lot."

It's probably not nice for Henry to tell the little girl about that, and her son will probably hate her once it reaches him, but she has the privilege to see her blush a deep red, a coy grin growing on her lips. She bends at the waist, pinches the girl's cheek and widens her smile, "Don't tell him I told you, okay?"

She nods and returns her smile.

Emma straightens and tilts her head at the man, her eyes unsubtly staring pointedly at the bright red on his chin, raising an eyebrow. He blinks once, twice, and then realizes the meaning behind her gaze.

There's a passing moment of panic and it surprises her because she had pulled it easily from his seemingly confident demeanor.

"_Shit_," he curses under his breath – the little girl giggles, he backtracks. "I mean, _oh no_…" he wipes furiously at his chin, his mouth, his stubble, it would amuse Emma if it weren't inappropriate for a child. "Ellie, stop giggling," he hisses, then crouches in front of her, his is voice stern but his lips are curved around the edges. "You go ahead and do well, alright?"

"Alright, daddy," she replies, nodding and kissing his cheek.

Emma watches as the grin he tried to hide just a few seconds ago blossoms on his face. _Handsome bastard._

Ellie runs towards her classroom, waving one last good bye to her daddy before entering. And then they are alone.

She turns her attention back to the man, and she finds him leaning on the lockers beside him, eyeing her as if she is holding a secret that could change his world. _She hates herself for thinking that._

"So, Mrs. Swan –

"It's Miss. Miss Swan. Or Emma." The correction comes out of her mouth without a thought, and she facepalms herself in her mind so hard, it's a wonder she doesn't feel it physically.

He hums his approval, tilting his head and staring at her again. "I see, _Emma_," he says after a few silent seconds and her name sounds like a goddamned innuendo coming from his mouth. "My name's Killian Jones, Ellie's father. It's nice to meet you, as well."

He takes her hand and lifts it to his mouth (and there is _no _shiver that runs down her spine, none at all), flashing her a wide smile once more before pushing himself up from the lockers. Emma crosses her arms in front of her chest, her steady gaze fighting his.

"You have a lovely daughter," she comments, and the smile that he tries to hide, the one that makes him look like a boy rather than the appealing man that he was just a few seconds ago, takes her by surprise.

"She is," he replies, his hand seemingly unconsciously scratching at the skin behind his ear. "Henry's… well, he's a smart lad – I quite can see where he got his gumption." His piercing blue eyes are holding her gaze once more, the meaning behind his sentence spoken loud and clear in the elementary school air between them.

Oh, but Emma, she's not one who easily believes compliments from a stranger – it's just that from this stranger, she nearly catches herself smiling at it. So she does what she normally does, she shoves it away and changes the subject.

"What's up with the…" she gestures at her own chin, and he raises his brows in recognition.

He chuckles, a wistful smile on his lips and something pierces her heart – the reason, unknown. "Oh you know… girls."

_Oh_, girls. It sends her reeling, her thoughts spiraling downward. Stand down, Emma, he's probably married and taken – or is a womanizing asshole, or something. She sees it in his eyes, he's out of the question, no doubt about that. All the textbook, telltale signs of a person in a relationship – _dammit Emma._

"I always tell her not to leave a mark," he continues, and oh she should not have asked, she doesn't need to hear this. "She always does anyway, she knows it embarrasses me – wait, where are you going?"

"I'm –" she turns abruptly, heading towards the open doors of the school entrance, repeating 'what the hell is wrong with you' in her head like a mantra because _what the hell is wrong with her?_ "I'm leaving, good bye."

* * *

><p>She receives a text two days later, while at work, from an unknown number.<p>

_Mom, I'm at Ellie's. Come pick me up around 5. Or earlier. We're having tea with the Queen! You are more than welcome to join us._

She swears, loud enough that if Henry was there with her, he would have sent her a glare that will eerily look like the one she gives him. But he's not there, so she's free to swear as much as she likes because she just met the Jones' two days ago and she could not possibly know where they live.

_This is it_, Emma thinks. _This is the rebellion stage – isn't he too young for this? _

Just this morning, he had asked about her dating life, and as if that was not strange and surprising enough, he had gone on suggesting people. A person in particular.

"Killian's pretty swell," he had said through a mouthful of pancakes. His nonchalance and his refusal to remove his gaze from hers are suspicious enough as they are.

"What makes you say that?" she had asked back, giving him an incredulous look.

"Ellie's my best friend," he had replied, swallowing and then setting his fork down on his plate. He had this knowing glimmer in his eyes and if Emma wasn't curious, she would be terrified. "She tells me everything about his dad. I… just think you'd get along well."

"Really, kid?" she had exclaimed, couldn't help the octaves her voice had climbed. "What are you – some kind of matchmaker?"

He had huffed, his lips set in a thin line. "I don't know, mom," he had replied, his shoulders sagging. "I… I think you're trying too hard not to be happy."

"What are you talking about?" she had sat across from him, ducking her head to meet his gaze. "I'm happy. _You _make me happy."

Silence had passed between them and she could feel it, she could feel how unconvinced he is about this whole situation – and what is up with his obsession in finding her a match? Killian and her? It makes her scoff because that's ridiculous, she barely knows the man. _He_ barely knows her. And people who had gotten _that_ close had… they had…

"I don't believe that," he had finally said as he starts to clean up. "I think you're afraid. Of what, I don't know." He rounds the kitchen counter and then faces her again, his hazel eyes holding hers all too knowingly. "But mom, you gotta try."

So she calls the unknown number, hoping to God her son picks it up because she's got a piece of her mind ready to give to him. It rings once, and then picks up.

"Henry David Swan, I swear to God, if this is part of your schemes, you'll –

"Hey, Swan." Well, that is definitely not Henry, unless he's grown well into his teenage years or puberty suddenly decided to strike him early, because that voice is deep and lilting and – oh God.

"Jones," she replies, her voice sounding more like a squeak than anything else.

"Yeah, your boy is with me – well, actually I'm hiding out from them." She hears a snicker and a loud thud in the background. "Uhm, so if you wanna come over for tea, I can text you the address, it's just that… _oh no, you've found me!_"

He seems distracted for a while, and so Emma stands there in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting for him to gather his bearings. When he comes to, he's breathless and panting and there is high-pitched giggling in the background. "It's chaos here, I'm warning you. But yeah, let me text you the address in a few."

"Yeah, okay," she replies, because that's all she can say before the line is cut off. It takes a few seconds for the message to arrive, a few moments for her to hail a cab, a few more seconds to give the driver the address, and then a few more seconds to delete the number from her phone altogether.

She doesn't think of it much, not when she's formulating an angry speech in her mind about not asking permission and kidnappers and other things that she gathers are a bit similar to those horror films they always watch on Christmas.

Ten minutes later, she finds herself in the midst of knocking on a white wooden door – but before she could get the third knock on the wood, it's being forcefully opened and she almost stumbled if not for an arm catching her mid-fall.

_Shit. Fuck. Shit._

"Well, hello, Swan," he chuckles, and somehow it takes her a while to gather her bearings and push off of him. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I'm just here to pick up my…" she stutters, because when she looks up, she sees his damned blue eyes staring at her intently, twinkling as if he'd seen the goddamned salvation. But most of all, she stutters because… well, because he has another lipstick stain on the side of his face, more of a streak than a mark but… "my son. I'm here to pick Henry up."

She watches as the glimmer in his eyes die down a little, his lips turning down in a slight frown, his head nodding minutely. "Right, well, don't you think it's a bit early for that?" he says, hugging the door closer to his body, closing it and blocking the scene from behind in the process. Her eyes narrow in suspicion.

"No, he still has homework –

"It's Friday, Swan, loosen up a little," he interjects. "Let him play just a bit more, and I promise I'd let you join if you behave."

There it is again, the innuendo-laden, thick-with-tension voice that has Emma blinking once, twice, for lack of response. His tongue darts out briefly, caught in between his teeth.

She was about to shoot a response when a voice chimes in from behind the door. "Daddy, we need the queen already."

"One moment, love," he says, not taking his eyes off Emma, nor relenting in the mischievous glint in them. "I'm trying to convince Henry's mom to come play with us… maybe she can take the role of the queen instead, for a change."

"I-I'm not – " she sputters, but his grin is widening and his hand is taking hers.

He gets close to her ear and whispers, "Take a leap of faith, love." And then he is tugging her gently into the loft as if they were _the_ little children.

She is greeted by a… startling sight. Everything is either white or pink or a shade in between; there's a table in the middle, tented with baby pink drapes, where Ellie and Henry sit together, side by side, like royalty in a fairytale kingdom. Her son has a metallic foil for a crown, the little girl has a gold one for her own.

"Hello, Mrs. Swan!"

"Mom!"

Killian lets go of her hand (and she hasn't noticed that they had not let go until, well, until he lets go) and walks toward where the little girl is sitting, crouching and fixing the crown on her head.

"Daddy," Ellie whispers to him, her hands wiping at the corner of her father's lips, her whole face lighting up. "Will Mrs. Swan play the queen now?"

Emma looks at Killian, and he in turn tilts his head at her, raises his brows at her, and smiles at her – damn it. She sighs in defeat, her shoulders sagging, because her son is giving her that puppy-look and she has never won against that. Couple it with Ellie's and she's a goner.

So she spends the afternoon drinking tea, being queen. Discovering that the lipstick stains were because Ellie insists that it's best having the Queen to drink tea with rather than a duke or a king. She had the brief privilege of seeing Killian Jones blush a bright shade of scarlet.

* * *

><p>"Mom, mom, stop!"<p>

"What, did you forget something?" she asks, turning around, her brows raised.

Her son stands a couple of feet away from her, his body angled towards the apartment complex from where they had come from after an equally exhilarating and exhausting tea party. He looks conflicted and it makes her wonder.

"No," he replies, his eyes trained on the door to the Jones' apartment. "You did."

"What?" she asks, taken aback.

"You didn't invite him to dinner this weekend," he mutters, his mouth thinning into a frown.

She blinks a couple of times at the boy, her jaw dropping open. "Now, why would I do that?" she asks again, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Because you like him," he says, the confidence in his voice unwavering and strong and… why is he so adamant on this subject?

"What makes you say that?"

He smirks at her, and _oh her little devil_. "I just know."

"Kid," she starts (and she is _not _blushing), and this really is not a topic they should be discussing in public, but she knows her son wouldn't be budged. She wonders where he got that particular trait.

"Mom," he says back, equally exasperated. "Come on, try a little."

They stare at each other a bit longer in a communication only _they_ can have without words. Her son wouldn't give up his ground, and so she sighs, defeated. It seems like she's losing battles today.

"Fine, I'll just text him," she replies and she was about to resume walking to the direction that is _not _towards the apartment but her son isn't following.

"No," he exclaims. "You deleted his number from your phone. Go, I'll be waiting here."

"Henry –"

"Mom, it's okay, I'll wait," he interjects, smirk growing into a wide grin. "Take your time."

So when she trudges towards the apartment door, she keeps telling herself it's because Henry likes the Jones', and because it wouldn't hurt having people over, and when was the last time Henry had friends over for dinner? But when her knuckles were ready to rap on the door, her mind takes a complete 180 because it opens before she even gets a knock.

It's him, he's flushed, he's breathless, and his eyes are wide, as if he'd just run a mile. "Hey," he greets.

"Hey," she replies, and it's stupid but she has the urge to run her fingers through his disheveled hair to see if she can get it tamed.

"I was just –" he takes a breath, "about to, uhm, to –

"He was about to ask you to dinner!" Ellie pops her head in between the door and Killian's arm, her grin wide and toothy – just like Henry's and – oh.

He looks down at his daughter and then to her, in his eyes a nervousness he's trying so hard to conceal. "Yeah, basically," he finally says. "But it's okay if you have plans, I mean –

"Okay."

"Okay?" he asks, as if unsure whether he heard it right – and to be honest, she's questioning herself whether it really was her voice that said that word, too.

"Yes," she nods, and this is her taking a leap of faith.

So when she returns to her son on the sidewalk, he is smiling at her, is grabbing her hand a leading her to the main street, muttering something under his breath, something that sound like 'picking a dress for tomorrow' or something equally terrifying…


End file.
